


Denial is a River in Egypt

by Alice_Rider



Series: Vampire au! [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, it's kinda related to my other work, lance is going through some bi panic, not really - Freeform, so this is sorta smut, tm - Freeform, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Rider/pseuds/Alice_Rider
Summary: For intents and purposes, Lance should not be curious about the whole “Keith is a vampire” thing.Keith agreed never to go after Lance. Lance agreed to keep his mouth shut. End of story.And to be quite honest, there’s a lot questions that Lance doesn’t know if he wants the answer to them, like if Keith could turn someone if he wanted to, or if Keith had always been this way, or if those teeth of his were really as sharp as they looked. Not that he’s curious or anything. Lance can’t even handle the sight of blood. Defender of the Universe be damned, just the thought makes him squeamish and queasy.So if anyone asked, not that anyone would because he’s been good about keeping his end of the bargain (and any mosquito related jokes out of his repertoire), Lance would say that he is absolutely not curious about the whole vampire shtick.---------------------------------------------------------------------------The secondish installation of my vampire au. A prequel of sorts to Love Bites





	Denial is a River in Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> So if you haven't read Love Bites by yours truly, it doesn't matter because this sorta leads up to that. But if you have, then you get more of the story behind it! Kinda. There will most definitely be more to this au later on if I can ever make myself sit and write it, so we'll see.

For intents and purposes, Lance should not be curious about the whole “Keith is a vampire” thing.

Keith agreed never to go after Lance. Lance agreed to keep his mouth shut. End of story.

And to be quite honest, there’s a lot questions that Lance doesn’t know if he wants the answer to them, like if Keith could turn someone if he wanted to, or if Keith had always been this way, or if those teeth of his were really as sharp as they looked. Not that he’s curious or anything. Lance can’t even handle the sight of blood. Defender of the Universe be damned, just the thought makes him squeamish and queasy.

So if anyone asked, not that anyone would because he’s been good about keeping his end of the bargain (and any mosquito related jokes out of his repertoire), Lance would say that he is absolutely not curious about the whole vampire shtick.

Except this is the third night in a row he’s bolted up in bed in the middle of the night cycle, drenched in sweat and grabbing at his throat in a reflex. There’s nothing but the dark quiet of his room to wash away the lingering feel of hands clasped tight around his shoulders, the ghost of a breath, hot against the skin of his throat, the phantom trails of sharp teeth that leave rivers of lava in their wake.

But if Lance learned anything at the Garrison, Denial is a river in Egypt, and he was a fantastic swimmer.

So for the third night in a row, Lance splashed some cold water on his face in the bathroom sink in a shoddy attempt at cooling down the red in his cheeks and crept back under the covers, eyes scrunched tight and knobby knees curled into his chest as he counted backwards from 100 and pretended that he wasn’t thinking about mullets and long, sharp teeth.

But unlike the two nights previous, by the time Lance had finished his countdown he was still awake, tossing and turning while he wrestled to shove the images of pretty pink lips hiding deadly, curious fangs back into the vault of shame in the dark recesses of his mind as the flames in the core of his chest sunk low into his belly to fuel him with an itch he dare not scratch.

Denial was a treacherous river in Egypt and somehow in the span of these three nights, Lance had forgotten how to fight the current.

It’s not long after the flush of his skin reminds him of just how lonely the life on an intergalactic soldier could truly be that he’s out of bed again, running shaking fingers through the kinks in his sleep mussed curls still damp with sweat, and he’s out in the hall not long after that, bare feet padding on tile towards destination unknown because he’s afraid of remembering the last time his bed didn’t feel so empty and expansive; and at the rate the night was going, he didn't trust his brain to not provide him with all sorts of creative and depraved ways that would make warm skin and hickies so much fun. And even if he weren’t adamantly ignoring the flames licking at the back of his psyche, Lance knows he’s nowhere near emotionally prepared enough to deal with that particular fallout just yet.

His midnight wandering leads him to the kitchen, blissfully serene save for the stack of dirty dishes piled high next to the sink. Technically, it’s Pidge’s turn for dish duty, but Lance has a reservoir full to bursting with anxious energy and not nearly enough to with it. The cold water may not be doing his boiling blood any favors, the mindless task keeps his hands otherwise occupied; the rest of his focus is steered into innovative ways he could have Pidge repay his kindness.

“Lance?”

The glass he’s currently rinsing slips right out of his sudsy grasp, and if the low chuckle behind him is any indication, Lance must look as stupid as he feels as he fumbles with it for a whole five seconds, totally not squawking and choking on his own tongue, before the cup clatters in the empty sink.

What certainly isn’t funny, however is the way Lance’s voice cracks on a surprised “Keith!” and the words that tumble out of his mouth after, “ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, what are you doing up so late?” do so without his permission and right on top of each other as they race into open air.

“I, uh, couldn’t sleep. I was thirsty.” It’s an innocent, reasonable enough response, but Lance busies himself with inspecting every last inch of the glass he just dropped because he’s not entirely sure if the vampirism gig comes with perks like night vision or telepathy and there is no force in the known universe, not even Voltron itself, that came make him face Keith with every inch of skin from his collar bones to the tips of his ears flushed bright red and all the various other meanings an implications of the word “Thirsty” rampaging through his frontal lobe. “Why are you doing the dishes?”

“I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have Pidge owe me one.” Smooth, McClain. He definitely didn’t notice the way you almost puked instead of spoke. No way. Or the way his voice shakes with every tremble of his fingers and every tremor in his gut. His feigned interest in the glass intensifies as he fights the wince that vies to run down his spine and bites his lip before his traitorous mouth can keep running. Keep it together. The fact that Keith’s a vampire doesn’t change anything. He’s still the same, smug, mullet wearing—

“Ok, but why are you doing dishes at two a.m.?”

Lance slices his finger on a chip in the glass, and the sight of blood running down his hand is apparently all the catalyst the fire in his veins needed to overpower his better judgment, because now Lance is whirling, fists clenched and so chest full of righteous fury (or maybe vomit. There’s warmth pooling in his hands and dripping between the slits of his fingers and his stomach has just realized its lifelong dream to become an acrobat)that he might burst, because it’s not fair that Keith has robbed him of three night’s worth of sleep with nothing more than the half cocked smile that he uses to tease Lance. It’s not fair that just his mouth alone can wreak such havoc on Lance’s poor, lonely heart and frayed nerves. It’s not fair that it has to be Keith, Keith of all the humanoids on inhabiting the castle-ship, that finds him at two a.m. just to rile him up and back him into a metaphorical corner. It’s not fair.

The flood gates are open now, son. There is no holding back the mighty wave that is Lance and the pressure building inside him and bubbling up to his tongue. He opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, and . . .

. . .every word on his tongue evaporates into thin air.

It takes Lance far too long to realize his jaw is hanging slack, well after the fire in his gut charges through the rest of his system and fries every trace of coherent thought while it flushes his face bright red, so red that even if night vision wasn’t in the vampirism skill tree, there’s no way Keith could have missed it, that by the time he regains enough function to snap his mouth shut, Keith’s taken three steps forwards, effectively and literally backing Lance into a corner against the counter.

Keith crosses his arms over his bare chest, taps his foot impatiently against the tile while Lance’s eyes most definitely do not trace the sharp lines of his collar bones or the contours in arms, highlighted by the cool blue lights that skirt along the edges of the floor; Keith takes another step when Lance fails to formulate an answer, and it muddles the air between them with their lingering breaths and charged static, and Lance is entirely ready to admit that he’s probably finally snapped without a proper night’s sleep, but he also swears he can make out a dull glow behind the usual violet of Keith’s eyes that makes it hard for his gaze to stray.

“Earth to Lance.” His name is only a breath on Keith’s voice that floats between them, and yup, Lance has definitely lost it. Keith’s eyes shouldn’t spark like that, like the strike of a match or a flash of lightning. When Keith’s arms wrap around Lance to find purchase on the counter, Lance’s breath stops all together.

What the hell is going on here? Keith is so close, too close, and Lance digs his fingers into the counter behind him when Keith’s eyes bleed into a brilliant glow lest his hands betray him too.

The fire rages inside Lance, and for one, brief moment, he’s actually afraid it might consume him.

Noooope. Nope nope nope. Not today. The rest of him might be rooted to the spot, but Lance wrenches his gaze away, plants it on the ceiling above him and keeps it there. Denial is a river in Egypt and Lance will not be losing to it tonight, thank you very much.

He can feel the vibration of Keith’s chuckle deep in his chest more than he hears it, the subtle drag of skin against the fabric of his skirt that gives the turbulent waters of denial and raging fires of something he dare not name an edge, but Lance keeps his gaze firmly on the ceiling and his fingernails embedded in the counter.

“Oh, come on Lance,” it’s a quiet amusement, barely audible over the rushing of blood in his ears that has Lance biting into his lip before he can gasp at the hot breath against his throat. “I just wanted a drink.”

Cold air is a shock against his heated skin, and when Lance peeks through his lashes, completely unable to remember even closing his eyes, Keith is a respectable distance away and Lance’s long arms hang between them.

Lance can’t decide, though, if it’s a relief that Keith looks exactly as confused as Lance feels.

It’s only a tick or two that pass by before Lance can’t stand the weight of Keith’s yellow eyes bearing down on him in the dark, before there’s a craving clawing at him, crawling through him, before Lance can remember how to use his feet and is launching himself out of the kitchen, into the hallway, and back to his room.

The coldest setting in his shower scalds his overheated skin, but Lance bites back a curse and sinks to the floor.

If Denial is a river in Egypt, Lance is drowning in it.

**Author's Note:**

> And as always, I appreciate all your lovely comments and kudos! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> If you ever want to request something, or just come yell into the void with me, @serendipitous-silver-linings, or @silver-linings-writings on tumblr!


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